


1536

by LukasBondevik



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-13 01:09:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1207207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LukasBondevik/pseuds/LukasBondevik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Do ya know exactly what I'm asking of you?" "I won't be a kingdom, a country anymore," he said lightly, though his teeth were gritted and he still resisted the urge to face the man. "Everything I am will belong to you." Based around the histories of Denmark and Norway after the breakup of the Kalmar Union in 1523 and following the events in 1536.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1536

Denmark was never one to pull a punch, not even with someone he loved and cared about more than almost anything else in the world. And when Norway saw his fist connect with Sweden's jaw, he knew that it was going to be trouble. He already had preemptively gathered up Iceland into his arms, pulled back into a corner, holding his brother tightly and trying to keep his hands from shaking violently against his shoulders. Blood was already drawn against Denmark's knuckles and while Norway tried to speak up to get them to stop, his voice wouldn't work no matter how hard he tried. Even when he saw Sweden draw his arm back and retaliate almost as quickly as Denmark had pulled away, he couldn't force himself to speak.

His fist connected with Denmark's cheek, and Norway winced as blood started to drip from his nose. The man was nearly toppled over with the force of Sweden's blow, clutching his face in agony but quickly hiding his pain. “You can't just leave,” Denmark said softly, though his voice was hard and dangerous sounding. Norway glanced between them to Finland, who stood by, uncertain if it were his part to intervene or not. But even if he decided to act, there was no way either of them, even together, could stop this monstrous situation. “We're in this together, Sve. That was the goddamn point! It was _always_ the point! You an' Nor an' me. We're family. _Tre kronor, Sverige_!”

Sweden said nothing, but took another shot at Denmark's face and Norway had to look away when it hit with a cracking sound. It was no contest, but Norway had to admit that Denmark had guts to continue on, managing a blow here and there, but Sweden was too much for him. On the ground on his back, Sweden laid blow after blow that Denmark did little to defend himself against, for whatever reason that Norway could not decipher. _Wait._ “St-stop! Stop it Sverige!” Norway finally called out, pulling himself to his feet, gently placing Iceland against the wall, and grasping Sweden's hand as he reached back once again. “You're going to kill him.” The larger man paused, Denmark's face a bloodied mess and turned his terrified glare towards Norway, who did not flinch, but merely backed a centimeter away after releasing his hand. “Just stop.”

After a moment of silence Sweden stood from the ground, his hand bruised and red, before picking up the pack that he had dropped minutes before the altercation. “'M leaving now,” he said gruffly, pulling the bag onto his shoulder and turning to the three of them still standing. Iceland had hurried forward to grip at Norway's blue skirts, his round violet eyes terrified at the sight of Sweden, bloodied and furious. Finland clutched the front of his own shirt, his knuckles white and his mouth pressed into a thin line. As he turned to leave, Sweden caught sight of the banner hanging by the door, the three crowns decorating it lavishly and tore it down, throwing it into Denmark's face. The man did not move. “Any of ya can come too if ya like. Don't need to stay here.” With that he turned away and threw the front door open, striding off from the house without another sound.

Norway met Finland's eyes, who glanced down to Denmark momentarily as they filled with tears. “I'm so sorry, Nor.” Without gathering up any of his own things Finland hurried out the door too, taking one look back at the house before running down the path to catch up with Sweden. Norway watched them go, uncertain, his hands trembling against Iceland's head. He couldn't leave. He would never suffer Sweden's rule of his own volition and he most certainly wouldn't survive alone, especially not with Iceland to think of as well. His young brother's gaze was boring a hole into him, his eyes questioning, and his heart was pounding in anxiety, threatening to burst from his chest. What was he going to do?

Denmark let out a groan that startled Norway, nearly forgetting he was there in his thoughts of his own survival. Lifting his skirts to avoid the blood on the floor, he carefully lifted the torn banner from Denmark's face, unable to hide the expression of grief he felt creep over his features as he placed a hand against his unbruised cheek. “Dan?” he asked quietly, kneeling carefully to prevent getting blood on his stockings as he brushed back hair from his face. Only one of his eyes could open properly, the other bruised and swollen shut, but the shimmer in that blue eye was almost too much to bear.

“You're still here?” he asked quietly, reaching up to place his own hand against Norway's on his face, his rough fingers warm. “I though you'd leave with Sve.” Norway suppressed a derisive snort knowing that this was no place for his gentle mockery of the Dane, simply choosing to use the torn banner to carefully mop up some of the garish red liquid that was dripping in rivulets down his face. It wasn't like this was the first time that Norway had to take care of him in the fashion, though he was ashamed that this was the first time that he wasn't right there fighting by his side.

Had he always been this weak?

Carefully ignoring the tears that streamed from the corner of Denmark's eyes, Norway admonished him mildly, “Don't be stupid, Denmark. I could never leave.” Though the reasoning behind it was cloudy as it always was with his relationship with the man. Forever mystifying and confusing, one of the few things that he could never get a complete grasp on. He heard the nearly silent pattering of Iceland's feet against the floorboards as he left the room absently, certainly to go hide in his room with his bird. He tended to do so when he was uncomfortable or afraid, but Norway allowed it this time, knowing that Denmark needed him more than his brother did right now.

“You mean it?” he asked with a breathy, pained laugh, pressing his lips several times to Norway's palm and wrist before nuzzling his cheek back into it. He was smiling, the absolute fool, smiling and carrying on like this after what happened. Norway shook his head and rolled his eyes though only because he knew Denmark couldn't see, finally clearing up the last of the mess on his face and lifting him carefully to sit up. He winced with Norway's hand pressed against his chest where Sweden had pummeled him last, but outside of that he seemed to only look incredibly beaten. “Didn't think ya cared that much, Nor.”

He frowned as he pulled over the closest piece of furniture for Denmark to lean against, a chair that was luckily unbroken despite the tumultuous afternoon. “What makes you say that?” he mused quietly, settling the man carefully against the chair and continuously sweeping his wild bangs away from his face. He knew what Denmark was going to say, because Norway knew himself why the man would think such a thing. Because he never said so, he never behaved so. He did what he was told but never consorted when he didn't have to, as the rapidly deteriorating Kalmar Union meant almost nothing to him by the end.

“Because whenever I tried to tell you anything that was worth sayin' you always told me how noisy I was,” he said with a short chuckle, his hands reaching out and clutching Norway's tightly against his chest. He was so much worse for the wear, his swollen eye and broken nose, his bruised cheek and blood dried in his hair, but Norway could not lie to himself and say that he did not care very much for this man. It was hard not to care about someone that you've known almost your entire existence. Same as he cared for Sweden, for Finland, and especially for Iceland. “You'd cut me off and tell me not to bother ya. It didn't change a thing about how I felt though.”

“Why are you saying this all of a sudden?” he demanded evenly, his voice still neutral but his heart starting to accelerate in his chest.

His eyes were watering even worse, his face red and blotchy from the fight and now from crying, his chest rising and falling a little too quickly. Norway couldn't think of a time he had seen him looking this terrible and vulnerable, and how disconcerting it actually was. “Because I love ya and I'm glad that you're stayin' with me.” Heat rose in Norway's cheeks even though he could have admitted that he saw the confession coming, that it all made sense to him. “I love ya more than I loved Sve, than I've loved anyone else in my life. If you're still here with me then I know I can carry on.” It was dramatic but it touched Norway's heart a little, this previously hidden confession suddenly out in the open like this. Denmark loved him and it was not a surprise to him at all, he realized. Of course Denmark loved him.

It was obvious in his every word, in his every movement, in his every action. It was obvious in the way he held him on those winter nights alone when things were freezing cold, in the way he treated him so differently than the others, how he looked at him from across the room. Of _course_. “I'll be here as long as you'll have me,” Norway said stoically, uncertain of how to respond because he didn't know how he felt about Denmark. He didn't know if he loved him in the same way, and lying would do nothing but destroy them both in the end. Denmark's smile lit up the room and he snaked his hand around Norway's neck, tangling his battered fingers into his blond hair and pulled him closer, pressing their lips together roughly.

Denmark's eyes were closed and his mouth was soft against Norway's, the softest thing he'd ever felt from the man in his life. It was a sensation he'd never experienced before, either, the brushing of someone else's mouth against his own. He closed his eyes too, almost forcefully, wanting to feel whatever it was that Denmark felt for him. It was there somewhere, he could tell, but it was so miniscule, a tiny campfire in comparison to Denmark's inferno. But that kiss ignited it and as Norway backed away he could say nothing as the lopsided, handsome smile on Denmark's broken face left him breathless.

…

It was almost surreal the way time passed after that day. Iceland and Norway stopped sharing a room, now that two more had had opened up in Denmark's home, but Denmark could not convince Norway to spend even a single night in his bed. Not for lack of trying however, though Norway easily dissuaded him at every turn. He needed to get his head on straight, needed to get his thoughts together before he even considered such a thing with anyone, even Denmark.

The difference in their relationship was evident though, since that day. Denmark was openly more affectionate and made reasons to hold his hand and press their lips together regularly. Norway would be lying if he said he didn't actively hope that Denmark would make an excuse to kiss him because he found some solace in the fact that Denmark did seem to truly care for him. He still needed time to think, but that was one thing that he was no longer worried about. Now that Denmark's feelings were completely transparent he could figure out his own.

He was standing alone in his bedroom, looking out the window and deep in thought. He wasn't doing anything in particular, just dressed in his usual blue skirts and tunic, his stockings snug on his legs as he pressed his forehead against the glass. Things seemed to have slowed down the past couple of years since Sweden and Finland had left. Life moved on, but it wasn't the same as before. None of them were the same as before and it was both strange and frightening to him. Especially Denmark, who had fluctuated between dealing with the loss by drinking gratuitously then conversely going to church once a week to ask for guidance.

Norway sighed heavily, pulling away from the window and straightening out the fabric of his outfit. He wasn't sure what to do these days to placate Denmark as most of the things he was looking for were out of Norway's comfort, out of his emotional range. But even though he felt guilty for not giving in, he wouldn't compromise himself for any reason, not until he knew for sure his feelings were genuine, until he knew that his body was prepared, that his mind was ready. “Nor.” He kept himself from jumping even though he was startled at the sound of Denmark's voice. He had forgotten his left the door wide open, and turned around sharply to meet his eyes.

“Yes?” Denmark's blue eyes were narrowed, though he seemed to be in his right mind; Norway could always tell when he'd had too much to drink. His red robes were hanging flatteringly around his arms, his flyaway hair framing his face and accentuating his cheekbones, his jaw. He took a step into the room, and Norway had to resist taking a step back.

“Take those off.” He furrowed his brow and looked around the room for a moment in confusion. He had absolutely no idea what Denmark was talking about. He tilted his head and shook it slightly in confusion, unsure of what to say. “Those stockings. Take them off.” For a moment he stared at his own legs, the white stockings obvious under his skirts, and then back to Denmark with a menacing glare on his face. They had agreed, even if it wasn't out loud, that such a thing was to be off limits. Had he not made himself clear enough thus far? Denmark never attempted to oust more out of him than a kiss, why all of a sudden was he behaving like such a beast?

“I would prefer not to,” he said coldly, clenching his hands against the blue fabric of his dress hard enough to make his knuckles turn white. Denmark's eyes narrowed and Norway didn't think he'd seen a more menacing expression on the usually jovial man's face since Sweden announced he was leaving them. His heart was pounding in his chest as Denmark strode into the room and Norway backed up until his shoulders touched the closest wall. Denmark was across the room in seconds and placed a hand against the wall to the side of Norway's head, his angry expression actually frightening him. “What are you doing?” he asked sternly, refusing to show his fear.

Denmark frowned. “ _Why_ would you prefer not to?” he asked, his voice low but did not sound exactly angry, more confused and hurt. Norway wanted to explain why, but his voice choked in his throat, unable to enunciate anything. He thought Denmark understood already, that this was never a problem between them. When Norway said nothing, his brows furrowed deeper and he gripped the belled sleeve of his dress, dragged him away from the wall and forcing him onto the mattress. “Obviously you don't have a good reason, so I'm just gonna help ya take them off myself.”

“Get _off_ ,” Norway growled, struggling against Denmark's fist holding his wrists tightly together as the stockings tore against his legs. The sound of the tearing fabrics was almost grating on his senses as he watched the delicate material get tossed in pieces across the room. When Denmark looked back at him though, the anger was alleviated, and he seemed mostly sad. He released his wrists and balanced himself on his elbows resting on the mattress on either side of Norway's head.

Denmark said quietly, his nose inches away from Norway's, “I don't know what kinda relationship ya still think ya got with Sve, Nor, keeping bits of him around like that, but he's gone. He'll never come back.” Norway blinked, incredibly confused and turned to look at the stockings that had been unceremoniously torn from his person. It only took him a second of examining them closely to realize what he was talking about; there were the three crowns emblazoned on the material and he felt his heart drop, turning back to meet the eyes of the unhappy man that was lingering above him. Everything made sense now, and he felt guilty for thinking anything different of Denmark.

Mortified, he replied back in barely a whisper, “That wasn't it at all, Dan. I didn't even realize... I had been wearing them for so long...” He swallowed hard, not looking away from his eyes and completely uncertain as to how to phrase exactly what had kept him in them. How they had nothing to do with Sweden. How very little he had come to think of Denmark when the man had been nothing but understand and kind since that day. “I'm sorry, Dan I--”

“Bróðir?” Norway stopped mid sentence and they both looked slowly at the door. Iceland stood there with a frown, his thumb popped in his mouth and a very sleepy, confused expression on his face. Norway felt red tint his cheeks as he realized how high his skirts were hiked up and that his legs were nearly wrapped around Denmark's thighs in this position on the bed. “I'm hungry.” He then turned away from the door and waddled away sleepily back towards the living area, and Denmark met Norway's eyes again, suddenly trying to cough down a laugh.

He leaned down and pressed their lips together a little rougher than Norway was used to and furrowed his brow. “Nor, if ya say it's not because of him I believe you. I'm sorry I was so rough with ya.” He kissed him once again on the mouth, and then on each of his cheeks, his nose, his forehead and back to his mouth before sitting up and easing off the bed. Norway sat up and pulled his dress to a much more reasonable level over his legs, feeling the embarrassment wear off his cheeks. He wanted to explain because letting Denmark feel like a fool was not something he wanted for a situation such as this.

“I love you,” Denmark said with a grin and attempted to flatten his hair with one hand before turning the corner to follow after Iceland to prepare him lunch. For the first time in his life, Norway felt his heart skip at the sound of those words and though he was still unable to say them back, he knew that it was coming for him soon. He pressed his hand against his chest and sighed, glancing to the corner of the room where the disastrous remains of his stockings lay.

It wouldn't be long now.

…

“Do ya know exactly what I'm asking of you?” Norway's hands clenched against his stomach as he faced the window, his eyes narrowed and his mouth skewed into a frown. He wasn't really looking at anything outside, just using the window as an excuse not to look at Denmark. Of course he knew what he was asking of him, if he was even really asking rather than letting him know what was going to happen anyway. Ever since Sve left Denmark had been nothing but strict, nothing but clinging onto every fiber of their relationship with the fear of losing it. He didn't seem to realize that Norway could never leave even if he wanted to.

“I won't be a kingdom, a country anymore,” he said lightly, though his teeth were gritted and he still resisted the urge to face the man. He would give in too easily, without a fight, if he looked at him and he wanted to preserve his dignity for as long as possible. “Everything I am will belong to you.” The thought of it suddenly sent a very passive shiver down his spine that he repressed, his cheeks feeling warm. How embarrassing, to act this way at a time like this.

The mattress creaked as he heard Denmark rise from his bed, the sound of his footfalls heavy and slow as he stopped behind Norway, his hands resting lightly on his waist. “Don't make it sound so unfortunate,” he laughed into Norway's ear, looping his arms tightly around his waist, his chin resting on his shoulder. Norway turned his face away determinedly, the burn on his cheeks getting worse but resolute not to let it show. He would put on a show of disinterest as long as possible. “I think you'd be happier, Nor.” His voice was soft and gentle, and his words were some of the most honest he'd ever heard the man speak. But he was always so concerned for his happiness for some reason or another, sometimes he suspected it might be because it was so jointly attached to Denmark's own happiness. He couldn't think to be content in life if Norway was not.

“What makes you so sure?” he asked shortly, finally turning around in Denmark's arms and meeting his blue eyes coldly. “Are you sure I'll be happier or are you doing this for your own sense of self worth? Your own sense of security that I'll never leave you?” Denmark squeezed him tightly to his chest, his camaraderie slipping out of his expression as his eyes narrowed slightly. Norway knew he had crossed a line but remained silent, his jaw set and his eyes refusing to waver from Denmark's face. He was silent and for a moment Norway was worried that he had finally pushed Denmark to the edge of his good humor for him, that he had dug himself a grave within Denmark's ill favor.

“Why do you always gotta talk like that?” he asked quietly, pressing a kiss to Norway's forehead and trailing down the side of his face to his mouth, gentle but firm, and Norway had no urge to pull away like he used to. His uncertainty about his feelings for Denmark had been gone for nearly ten years, but he still refused to let it show. “It makes me think you hate bein' around me, that you don't think I care about ya.” Norway leaned back slightly, his hands against Denmark's chest and his head slightly tilted, trying to find the right words to say.

How could he tell the man that he would rather believe Denmark thought of him as a piece of land than a as lover? It would be so much less painful if something were to happen to either of them, as it almost did several times in the past. However, by this point, the time for thoughts of that nature was long gone, because he knew exactly what was going on between the two of them and it had nothing to do with land or property or wealth. “Tell me you love me.” Norway's voice was firm and Denmark's eyebrows raised, the dark color clashing with his soft blond hair as he regarded Norway quietly.

He pressed his cheek to the side of his face, his lips brushing against Norway's ear as he whispered softly, seriously, emphatically, “ _Jeg elsker dig._ ” It was a long time coming, Norway knew as he gripped Denmark's hair to pull his head back, crushing their lips together and feeling the bruising already start to form. He didn't care, he stopped caring almost ten years ago and grasped at the man's hair, feeling Denmark cup his hands underneath him and lifting him against the wall. Norway wrapped his legs around Denmark's torso, the sensation of being held up and pressed against the wall near the open window nearly electrifying.

Denmark carried him, flush against his body, and laid him down gently on the bed, positioning himself carefully over Norway as he began to unbutton his own shirt. Norway helped Denmark out of his clothes, nipping and biting at his chest and shoulder muscles, pressing kisses along his collarbone. His skirts were nearly torn down the middle in Denmark's haste to take them off, and Norway roughly pushed his hands aside to undress himself and preserve the outfit the indignity of Denmark's manhandling. “You have no patience,” Norway complained as Denmark tossed the blue fabrics aside and scooped the smaller man into his arms, kissing his neck and biting down at the crook where it met his shoulder.

“Don't gimme that,” he said with a laugh, leaning over him with a grin on his face. “I've been waiting for a hundred years, I think I've been patient enough, Nor.” He felt his face flush as Denmark kissed him roughly, holding his hands hostage above his head as he reached down to grip his dick, rubbing his hand along it. Norway's hips bucked in surprise at the touch, a low moan escaping his usually stoic lips and Denmark's grin grew wider. He had him right where he wanted him and Norway couldn't help but shiver at the thought of it. His lips trailed down his chest, pressing against every square inch of him they could find, like he had been waiting his entire life for this moment and was relishing in it.

When his mouth found his dick Norway groaned and Denmark teased him, running his tongue up the side of it before finally taking him in. “Dan,” he said softly, his hand tangled in the man's hair, his head thrown back against the pillow and his eyes closed. He had kept himself for so long from allowing this and for what? To preserve his pride? To deny the truth of what he felt every single day of his life with Denmark? He needed this as much as Denmark did, regardless of the circumstances. He should have just listened from the start.

Though Norway was at a loss as to what to do, Denmark seemed to make it all up with confidence and bravado, his mouth working wonders on him as he bobbed his head up and down around his dick. It was a strong sensation building up in his groin, and Norway bit his lip hard as he felt Denmark's tongue against the tip of his cock. “Dan....” He couldn't stop saying the man's name over and over again, mingled with his groans and the near silent whimpers that escaped between his lips as his hand gripped at the man's hair tighter and tighter. “Danmark!” The voice that burst from his mouth sounded nothing like his own and it was coupled with the sensation that he had never experienced before in his life as he released into Denmark's mouth.

There was sweat on his brow and his hand trembled against the back of Denmark's head, his voice completely missing as he raised an arm to rest over his eyes. He didn't know what to say, his breath coming in bursts even though he hadn't done anything strenuous. “You are beautiful Nor, I thought ya should know that.” Norway chuckled halfheartedly and tried to respond, before he felt Denmark's fingers trace down along his thigh to finger him, and he gasped, unable to form a coherent thought. “I've always thought so.” It wasn't a painful sensation, just a strange one, and Denmark was not shameful as he carefully inserted another finger. He held Norway's legs against one of his broad shoulders, gentle and slow as he worked him.

“You're too kind,” Norway gasped as he moved his hand away, leaning down a little and resting Norway's legs over his shoulders. Grabbing a bottle from the nightstand, Denmark poured the yellowish substance into his hand and rubbed it along his own cock as Norway watched, his eyes slightly narrowed in suspicion. With only a mirthful chuckle as a response, Denmark moved back to where he had been kneeling on the bed before, holding Norway's legs and kissing his calf gently. Before Norway could even realize what was happening, Denmark guided himself inside of him, slowly as he gauged his expression with each movement. It was tight and a little uncomfortable, but whatever he used eased the entry and made it not only the smallest bit painful, but incredibly sensational. “Oh my god,” he said before he could stop himself, the words rushing out in one breath as he felt Denmark's hips against his skin.

He rearranged Norway's legs to wrap around his waist, leaning down to kiss him as he began to move back and forth. It was one of the most wonderful, strange, exciting experiences of his life as he felt the thrusts grow quicker and harder, Denmark's hips moving in an excited rhythm against him. It took Norway a moment to realize that Denmark's mouth was against his ear, groaning and panting with each movement, his voice becoming breathier and his hand pressed against the side of his face. “Nor,” he said with such a tender voice that he couldn't believe it came from him, but he was too hot, too wrapped up in the passion of Denmark inside of him and against him, their hands mingled together with their sweat and moans and movements, to say anything at all.

The moan he released was more of a cry, his voice pitched up higher than usual as he pressed himself against Norway, his hot breath against his ear as he collapsed against him, though not quite limp as he managed to hold himself up from crushing him. “Oh Norge,” he said with a contented sigh, pressing light kisses against his face and neck.

“Yes?” he asked with a small voice, still uncertain of what to say to him. It was the most intimate experience they had ever shared, would ever share in their long lives, and he was baffled and concerned as to how to react to the entire thing. Denmark pulled himself out of Norway and cleaned up the mess that ensued from the lubrication and his own bodily release. Norway shivered against the chilly night air as Denmark made quick work of the mess and grabbed the blankets, wrapping the two of them up snugly against each other.

“I love you so much,” he said sleepily, kissing him on the nose before curling up with Norway wrapped in his arms. “I promise this will be good for us both.”

Norway nodded slowly, believing him and sighing against his chest. “And I love you, Danmark.” It was the first time he had the courage to speak the words aloud, and all he could think of as he watched the man fall fast asleep was that he hoped there would be plenty more opportunities to say it in the future.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story I wrote based on Tumblr user asutori's headcanons about Denmark and Norway after the breakup of the Kalmar Union in 1523. It follows through to the integration and dissolution of the Norwegian kingdom into Danish territory and the Norwegian Council of the Realm being abolished in 1536. Please enjoy! There is also some NSFW at the end.


End file.
